


Let's play murder

by Never laugh at a live Sherlock (smaugholmeswatson)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Kidnapping, Mistaken Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-24 02:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2564837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaugholmeswatson/pseuds/Never%20laugh%20at%20a%20live%20Sherlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has a dirty little secret they don't want anyone to find out. For Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes it just happens to be a crazy pyschopath of a brother who is determined to destroy everything they hold dear, beginning with the attempted murder of someone close to them...<br/>And they aren't the only ones hiding something for John has an equally distressing secret of his own, one that will change the balance of power between the Holmes brother's forever.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A dark encounter

It wasn't unusual for detective inspector Greg Lestrade to remain at New Scotland Yard once everyone else had gone home. It was the only way he could finish the paperwork which relentlessly built up during the week despite how much he struggled through each day. Work wasn't the only reason he stayed late though because Lestrade also enjoyed the peace and quiet of the empty office after a hectic day of running around trying to solve crimes while at the same time trying not to get Sherlock involved. Lestrade sigheed and leant back in his chair, the fabric creaking beneath him. At the moment Sherlock was proving to be quite an enigma. Normally the detective was cold and difficult to work with but since John Watson had entered his life Sherlock had been, Lestrade wouldn't go as far as to say he was friendlier, a changed man with more tolerance for those who weren't as quick to catch onto things as he was. Lestraade shook his head, a slight smile turning up the corners of his mouth, and turned his attention back to the mountain of paperwork on his desk. 

A clock in one of the other offices struck midnight in strident tones but Lestrade ignored it and continued to stare blankly at the report before him. He still had three of them to get through before he could comtemplate calling it a night. His eyes ached and stung with tiredness and the words on the page had begun to merge into one another. With a sigh Lestrade leant back in his chair, thinking that it couldn't hurt and might even refocus his mind if he took a five minute break. Yawning widely he stood and headed out into the corridor. The interior of New Scotland Yard was just as plain and functional as it looked on the outside with rows of identical small offices all furnished with a desk, a computer and a hard back chair. Though Lestrade's office was slightly bigger than many of the others it was still just as sparse and identical looking to the office of a lower ranking officer. At this time of night even the cleaners had gone home, leaving Scotland Yard shrouded in an eerie silence that wasn't helped by the minimal lighting intended to cut back on the electricity bills. As Lestrade walked down the corridor and became aware of just how loud his footsteps sounded a shiver ran down his spine. He could almost imagine a dark, shadowy creature lurking out of sight as it waited for an oppotunity to attack. Lestrade shook his head, knowing he was being ridiculous and aloowing his imagination to run away with him. During his years as a police officer he had witness shocking crimes and horrific murders and yet here he was, still getting hung up on something as childish as the dark. A wry smile crept onto his face. Sherlock would laugh if he was here. 

Shaking his head at himself Lestrade fed coins into the vending machine at the end of the corridor; the hollow clanging chinkle of the money falling into the depths of the machine echoing in the silence. He punched in the corresponding numbers for an energy drink, hoping it would wake him up, and stood there waiting while the machine whirred into life, pushing his selection forward until it dropped into the tray below with a clunk. Bending down Lestrade groaned when the vetebrae in his back cracked and protested and picked up the can. He hated working late but didn't have much choice. Being a detective inspector was hard work. With a deep sigh Lestrade headed back towards his office; his feet echoing loudly despite his attempts to sneak quietly along the corridor. He was roughly halfway back to his office when what scant lighting there was, suddenly and abruptly went out plunging Lestrade into complete darkness. Instantly Lestrade froze, cursing quietly under his breath. 

Great of course there had to be a power cut now. Muttering darkly under his breath he blinked rapidly a few times in an attempt to make some sense of the blackness so he could see enough in order to get backto his office without stubbing his toe. It would be a miracle though if he managed it because the corridor before him was a daunting maze of boxes, cupboards and a number of knee high bins. Well, he couldn't remain stranded here all night. Slowly, with his hands stretched out before him, Lestrade hesistantly began to walk towards his office, It was faintly disconcerting not being able to see anything. Hang on, what was that? Lestrade paused, his entire body tensing. Had that been a footstep? He listened, straining his ears but he was unable to hear anything exccept the sound of his own breathing. He shook his head; he was just being daft. There was no one in the building but him. Lestrade walked forward a few paces before he heard the noise again. Okay, that had definatly been the sound of a gentle tread squeaking on the floor despite their best efforts to be quiet. Lestrade's heart punded in his chest and panic flooded through him. He took a few deep breathes to calm himself, maybe it was just a few of the junior officers playing another prank on him. Somehow though he didn't really believe it because the pranksters were usually much more noisy and obvious. Slowly Lestrade turned on his heel and squinted, trying to see who was lurking out of sight. 

"Hello?" He called, a slight shake in his voice. "This isn't funny guys." Lestrade expected to hear laughter and raised voices and was therefore surprised when he heard a dark chuckle from behind him that made the hairs on his arm stand on end. 

"Of course it isn't funny Greg Lestrade, I'm being deadly serious." said a deep voice laced with malice. The voice seemed to be coming from all directions and Lestrade felt a tightness developing in his chest. He gritted his teeth, damn it he couldn't be having a panic attack now. 

Taking a deep breath to calm himself Lestrade began to consider his surroundings. Despite the disorientating darkness he was reasonably sure there was a door to the stairwell close by. Slowly, cautiously he reached out and slid the tips of his fingers across the smooth surface of the wall. Because he was expecting to come into contact with cold metal Lestrade was surprised when his hand touched something warm and very much alive. He let out a involuntary gasp and tried to pull back but a hand grabbed tightly onto his. 

Without warning a crippling wave of icy panic tore through Lestrade, leaving him helpless to do anything as his knees shook beneath him. He closed his eyes and muttered a brief prayer under his breath. 

"I-I've got him sir." stuttered a weak voice with a strong American accent. 

Lestrade rolled his eyes. Great, of course there had to be two of them though the person currently holding his wrist in a tight grip didn't seem all that strong. Before the person could do or say anything further Lestrade twisted their arm sideways, knocking the person off balance and into the wall. They cried out in shock and began to babble to whoever was with him. 

"I'm so sorry sir, I didn't expect him to fight back." 

Lestrade swore he heard the other person let out a quiet annoyed sigh as though they were barely tolerating the American. "You grabbed his arm, what else was he going to do? Go and make yourself Lester, turn the lights back on. I want to see the fear in his eyes when I kill him." The person with the deep voice snapped. 

The person hurried off, their feet squeaking upon the floor. An awkward heavy silence fell and it was broken only by the sound of Lestrade's panicked breathing. Slowly he began to inch backwards away from whoever was in front of him. It was un-nerving how quiet the person was, Lestrade couldn't even hear them breathing. Lestrade's foot struck a metal bin with a loud clang and he froze, cursing under his breath. Oh crap, the person had to have heard that. After several minutes had passed and he hadn't heard any sign of pursuit Lestrade relaxed slightly. Maybe, just maybe he would be able to get away and call for re-enforcements. Careful to feel behind him for any obstacles Lestrade continued to back slowly away. At one point he almost began to feel hopeful that he would actually get away. 

Unfortuantly he had forgotten about the American. He was abruptly reminded of his existence when with a loud click and a humming buzz the lights came on without warrning. The sudden brightness seared painfully into his eyes and blinded him, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut against the tears which were threatening to spill down his cheeks. Once the pain had subsided a little Lestrade blinked rapidly a few times as he desperatly tried to gain his sight back before either of the two people in the corridor with him could make a move. 

"Finally, it took you long enough didn't it Lester?" The deep voice snapped, sounding throughly annoyed with his companion. "Now let's get down to business shall we?" 

Lestrade blinked again and finally managed to open his eyes enough to see, though he was still forced to shield his face with his arm. If he squinted he was just about able to make out a dark shape stalking towards him. Stumbling backwards Lestrade cursed under his breath. Great, now what was he going to do? He supposed he could just turn tail and run but then he would leave the two people behind him in Scotland Yard and goodness only knows what they would get up to. No, running wasn't an option. What he needed to do was face up to these people and show them that he wasn't a pushover. Maybe then they would leave him alone. Lestrade lowered his arm and glared blearily at the person before him, still unable to make out any specific details but able to see enough to see the long handled knife they are clutching in one hand. This wasn't looking good. Lestrade swallowed nervously and turned on his heel, intending to make a run for it. Before he could the person strode forward with long strides and wrapped a slender arm around his neck, pulling Lestrade close so they could plunge the knife into his side. Then, as though they had grown bored of him, the person roughly shoved Lestrade from him. Lestrade tried to steady himself against the wall but intense pain shot through his side. He cried out and slumped to the floor, pressing his hand over his wound to try and stop the flow of blood pumping between his fingers. Blearily Lestrade raised his head when he heard a deep chuckle coming from above him. 

The person standing over him was familiar, very familiar and Lestrade stared at the person with his mouth open, trying to make sense of the person before him. What was Sherlock doing here? Why had he stabbed him? He frowned. Actually now he was getting a closer look he wasn't even sure that it was actually Sherlock. He was sure the detective would never wear a long leather coat or look down on him with dead, emotionless eyes. If that wasn't confusing enough a short, blond haired john lookalike appeared behind Sherlock, watching him with curious eyes. 

"Who the hell are you?" Lestrade gasped, painfully dragging himself backwards away from them. He winced when, reaching up to wipe away a trickle of fluid from the corner of his mouth, his fingertip came away red. Damn, his wound must be worse than he intially thought. Gingerly, afraid of what he would find, Lestrade reaached down and probed his wound. It was deep and a steady stream of blood was still flowing from it despite his efforts to stem it. Pain flared through him and his vision blurred, momentarily obscuring the Sherlock and John lookalikes as a curtain of darkness settled over his eyes. Shaking his head to dispel the feeling he glared up at the pair standing over him. 

The tall Sherlock lookalike smirked nastily before turning his back to head towards the emergency exit. "Sweet dreams Greg Lestrade, I don't believe we shall be seeing one another again. Come Lester it is time for us to leave." The John lookalike gazed down at Lestrade a moment longer with a terrified expression in his eyes before hurrying after his companion. 

Lestrade attempted to stand but his legs collapsed beneath him when pain shot through his side, forcing a cry from between his lips. "Hey." He managed to spit out from between gritted teeth. "You didn't answer my question." He slumped down again, exhausted by his efforts to move, and pressed his hand more firmly against his wound but the blood just continue to puddle on the floor. A thought struck him and he reached into his pocket for his phone. To his horror his hand closed on emptyness and he remembered that he had left it in his briefcase. Lestrade cursed himself for being so stupid. 

He heard a laugh and realised that the Sherlock lookalike had turned to watch him struggle. "Things are not always what they seem Greg Lestrade." He said cyptically, waving his hand. Then he reached out, grabbed Lester's arm in a tight grip and disappeared through the door leading to the stair well. 

Lestrade groaned loudly and felt several tears run down his face. He would worry about the Sherlock and John lookalikes later, right now he needed to get to a phone. He paused to steel himself for the three metre crawl between him and his office and then slowly, painfully began to drag himself forward, leaving a streak of vivid red blood behind him. At first the pain was almost overwelming and it felt like white hot needles were being pushed into his skin but then a wave of numbness flooded through him followed by a breath taking coldness that made Lestrade shiver. With only two metres left to go to his office Lestrade felt his chest constrict and tighten until he was barely able to breathe and darkness danced at the edges of his vision. Spitting out a strangled yell he forced himself forward, ignoring the peculiar drifting sensation settling over his mind. With only half a metre to go Lestrade collapsed, unable to go any further despite how much he raged at himself to keep going. It was useless, he had reached the end of his strength. He had been so close and the edge of his desk was in touching distance but he was simply unable to go any further. Lestrade allowed himself to go limp and hardly winced when his head struck the floor with a hollow clunk. In fact he didn't feel anything any more because of the numbness which was engulfing every part of his body and slowly spreading through his mind, leaving emptyness in its wake until Greg Lestrade simply drifted away. 


	2. Mirror, mirror

Sherlock and I are enjoying the peace of early morning, the time before we receive any calls demanding we were needed at a crime scene, when a number of police officers arrive at 221B and start trying to break down the door of the flat. When I hear the noise I rush out of the kitchen, a peice of toast still clutched in my hand, to find Sherlock engrossed in his paper and looking as though he can't hear the shouting and loud crashes coming from outside. I stare at him for a moment, wondering how he can be so calm, before rolling my eyes. Despite how long I have known him I don't think I will ever truely understand the detective. Then I turn my attention towards the door and hesistantly walk towards it, half expecting it to burst open at any moment. Half way to the door I pause and turn back towards Sherlock, wanting to see some hint of reaction in him. I am disappointed though because his face is still calm and he continues to read the paper. I shake my head. "How the hell can you be so calm Sherlock? Can't you hear the people trying to batter down our door?" I demand, already knowing I probably won't get a reaction. I am right because all Sherlock does is to briefly glance up at me. I see a worried frown flash across his face and abruptly realise that he isn't as calm as he would have me believe. 

Outside the door the shouting has stopped and through the wood I hear a single voice instructing everyone to be quiet while he address the suspects. Hang on, suspects? That can't be right can it? Maybe I misheard or.... I glare over at Sherlock who smiles back but I am sure he had something to do with it. This wouldn't be the first time Lestrade has sent his officers round on a dawn raid because Sherlock annoyed him. Hopefully what ever he did wasn't too bad and the officers will leave quickly so Sherlock and I can enjoy the rest of our Sunday. Outside the door there is still silence and I walk a few paces forward, curious to find out what it going on. The next moment there is a quiet knock, causing me to jump back a few steps before I can catch myself. Thankfully Sherlock didn't see that or you can sure I would never hear the end of it. I still don't answer the door though and stand there staring at it, wondering if opening the door is really the best option any more. 

Behind me I hear a rustle of paper as Sherlock folds up his paper and lays it to one side. "Well," He asks. "Aren't you going to answer that?" He asks, his deep voice still laced with sleep. 

Acting on autopilot I walk over and unlock the door. The moment the lock clicks the door is torn from my hands and violently crashes back against the wall. From the corner of my eye I am aware of Sherlock half rising from his seat with a startled expression on his face. I think he is just as surprised as I am when Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older brother, bursts into the room with a frantic look on his face. "Sherlock! Please tell me you were no where near Scotland Yard last night. For gods sake tell me you weren't the one who did it!" Mycroft pleads, his usually calm voice hysterical. 

Naturally, like any normal person in such a situation, I am taken aback by what Mycroft is saying. Obviously something momentous has happened or he wouldn't have come here first thing on a wednesday morning. I look over at Sherlock to see what his reaction to the intrusion is and find him looking as surprised as I am. "I'm sorry Mycroft, what is it I'm supposed to have done?" Sherlock asks, tipping his head on one side and frowning at his brother. 

Mycroft takes a deep breath and swallows a few times as though he is trying to prepare himself for what he is going to say next. "I am sorry to burst in on you like this little brother but there was an incident at Scotland Yard last night." He pauses and closes his eyes. When he opens them again he wears a pained expression. "An incident in which you were implicated by an eyewitness report." His voice begins to shake uncontrollably. Several of the police officers from outside rush forward but Mycroft waves them off and collapses down into an armchair opposite Sherlock. 

Unable to believe what I am hearing I stare at the older Holmes brother and shake my head. Surely he can't seriously be suggesting what I think he is? Slowly I walk forward until I am standing beside me and he is forced to look up if he wants to look into my face. "What do you mean Mycroft? What happened last night?" Mycroft raises his gaze to mine but then hastily looks away. A feeling of icy dread washes through me. I knew it; something terrible has happened. 

With a sigh Mycroft buries his head in his hands. "According to his statement you two broke into Scotland Yard last night and brutally attacked Lestrade before leaving him for dead. Personally I'm not sure if I believe it but the police officers with me want to search your flat so you can definatly be ruled out." He says in a low, despondant sounding voice. The poor guy sounds like he has the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. 

For a long neither Sherlock or I am able to find anything to say in reply, both of us deeply shocked by what we have just heard. It is odd but I feel like the earth has tilted beneath me and thrown everything I thought off course. Events like this didn't happen to people like us. For god's sake we solved this sort of case all the time where someone was attacked or killed by an unknown assailent. This last thought freezes me to the spot and sends a shiver down my spine. "Was Greg badly hurt?" I ask, my voice sounding a little strangled. Dear god, let him be alright. If anything, god forbid, should have happened to him because some previous criminal had decided to get revenge on Sherlock I would never forgive myself. 

"Greg was stabbed in the stomach." Mycroft explains in a hoarse voice. "When he was found this morning those first on the scene honestly thought he was dead there was so much blood..." His voice trails away to nothing. Without warning he leaps from the chair, rushes across to Sherlock and grips his brother's hands tightly in his own. "Please tell me that you had nothing to do with it brother." He pleads. I have never seen either Holmes brother loose control before, though Sherlock has come close on a previous case, and I have to admit that I am finding it unsettling. 

I go to reply, to reassure Mycroft that we were at another crime scene across London but Sherlock motions for me to stay quiet. Knowing he probably has a plan I do not say another word and simply watch as Sherlock stares intently at Mycroft. "Have you considered the possibility that it could be him?" Sherlock murmurs, his voice barely audible. I am only able to hear him because I am standing so close. 

Mycroft's head snaps up so I am able to see the alarm which is written on his face. "No it can't be, why on earth would he return now?" He cries in a voice loud enough to make several of the police officers searching in the flat look over at us with frowns on their faces. "I thought after what happened last time that he wouldn't dare show his face again." Mycroft continues, shaking his head. 

Sherlock places a comforting hand on Mycroft's shoulder. I turn my back, not wanting to intrude on the brother's private moment. However instead of discreetly distancing myself from them I manage to stumble into the path of one of the police officers. "Sorry." I say when he glares at me. Whoops, maybe it would be better if I wait outside until I am needed. Glancing over my shoulder to make sure that neither of the Holmes Brother's want me for anything I grab my coat and head towards the outside world. Maybe I will go for a short walk to clear my head. Behind me I hear footsteps echoing on the stairs but I am not overly worried. Obviously one of the police officers is following me downstairs. As a result of this conclusion I don't pay them any more attention. Humming quietly under my breath I walk out onto the street...and straight into the path of a small person, knocking them to the ground. "Oh god, I'm so sorry." I exclaim, holding out my hand to help them up. 

N-n-no worries John Watson. No harm done." The person stutters in reply in a thick American accent. He ignores my hand which I, personally, think is rather rude. 

I have started to walk away when a sudden thought strikes me. Oh crap I recognise that voice...but it can't possibly be him can it? A wave of alarm floods through me. If it is him then things are about to get a hell of a lot more complicated. Despite my best efforts to keep them still my hands are shaking when I glance up. Yes, it's him alright. A violent shudder runs through me as I gaze upon the face which is so eerily similiar to my own. My fists clench. What the hell is he doing here? I go to take a step towards him but an arm circles around my neck, cutting off my air supply. Instantly my thoughts go to survival and I open my mouth to cry out. Before I can a hand is slapped across my mouth. Panic flares through me. No, no this can't be happening! I try to bite the hand but the person holding me simply painfully yanks my head to one side until I can feel the bones in my neck start to protest against the strain. 

"If you insist on struggling John Watson you are only going to get hurt." hisses a deep voice in my ear. Despite the menacing tone I swear I know that voice. A sliver of ice runs down my spine as realisation dawns and the arm around my throat tightens painfully, causing dark spots to dance in my vision. "Well Lester." The deep voice snaps. "Open the back of the van and get going. You know how protective Sherlock Holmes can be about his friends." 

Dimly through the pounding in my head I hear the sound of doors being flung open before I am bodily dragged forward by the arm around my neck. I attempt to fight, to cling on to the person holding me but it does not work. Moments later I am being bundled into the back of a white van. The lnading knocks the breath from me and my head strikes the flooor hard, almost knocking me unconscious. Dazed I glance up to try and see who my kidnappers are but against the bright light of the sun they are nothing but black silhouettes. Then the van's back doors are slammed shut and I am left in darkness. 

* * * * 

Back in 221B Sherlock placed a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder as he desperatly tried to think of something to say. Out of the corner of his eye Sherlock was aware of John leaving the room but he was too busy trying to ease Mycroft's distress to really spend time worrying about him. "Obviously last time we didn't warn him off well enough." He said with a serious expression on his face. "Anyway it might not even be him." 

Mycroft glanced over at him with a disbelieving expression but didn't say anything. Instead he buried his head in his hands and cursed quietly to himself. Sherlock felt a wave of sadness for him. Poor Mycroft. Sherlock knew how much he cared for Lestrade and knew also how hard it must be for him to think that someone close to the two Holmes brothers could have hurt him. Removing his hand from Mycroft's shoulder Sherlock ran it through his black curls with a loud sigh. Even though he was better with emotions since being around John he still had no idea when it come to comforting people. Sitting back on his heels he looked around at the flat. By now many of the police officers had grown bored of searching and were leaning on the walls chatting to one another. One of them had wandered into the kitchen and begun to make cups of tea. Sherlock winced and hoped the officer didn't look in the fridge. A sudden though struck him and he turned his attention back to Mycroft. "Why aren't you at the hospital with Greg?" He asked, frowning at his brother. 

Mycroft's eyes were swimming with tears when he looked up. "I went there earlier but they told me he was still in surgery and wouldn't be back on the ward for a while. I tried to wait but I couldn't keep still; I needed to be doing something." He said, reaching up to wipe away the tear dripping down his cheek. "The only place I could think to come was here. When I arrived I found the police officers preparing to break in and decided to tag along." 

A faint smile crept onto Sherlock's face. That sounded like his brother. "Oh Mycroft." He murmured, lightly stroking his brother's cheek. To his suprise Mycroft flinched away from him and his eyes flicked from side to side as though he was searching for someone. Then he rounded on Sherlock, gripped his wrists tightly and pulled him towards him. "What's wrong?" Sherlock asked, a little startled by the frantic look in Mycroft's eyes. 

"What if it is him? Last time it almost killed both of us facing him and yet he escaped without a single scratch." Mycroft replied, practically shouting and seemingly unaware of the frowns of the officers who were staring at him like he'd gone mad. "Sherlock, where's John?" 

In reply Sherlock frowned at him as he tried to work out why John's current whereabouts would be so important to his brother. "He went out about five minutes ago to get some air. Why do you ask?" At first Mycroft did not reply and continued to stare at Sherlock intently like he was trying to mentally communicate with him. After several long seconds of that Sherlock suddenly made the connection. His eyes widened and a loud gasp escaped him. Oh god, how could he not have thought of it? If the third Holmes brother had returned to London then nobody was safe; especially not people close to Mycroft and Sherlock. A flutter of panic ran through Sherlock's veins and he pulled against Mycroft's grip, wanting to free himself so he could go outside and search for John. Obviously realising what his brother was trying to do Mycroft released him and nodded in understanding. "Thankyou." Sherlock murmured quietly as he rose to his feet. Taking a deep breath he began walking towards the door of the flat. Before he reached it however John himself walked through it. Relief flooded through Sherlock but it rapidly drained away when he noticed how his friend's hands were shaking. He held out his arms to grip John's shoulders and was surprised when insteaad of standing still and letting him John flinched away from him and stood staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. Sherlock swallowed. Maybe he had come across the third brother after all? Sherlock shook his head. No if that had happened John would be considerably more shaken than he was. Sherlock continued to frown at John for a moment, watching for any more little signs something was not quite right. He did not spot anything though and soon turned his attention back to Mycroft who was still sitting hunched over. "Brother, do you think Lestrade will be up to being questioned?" He asked, beginning to pace from one side of the room to the other with his hands clasped behind his back. 

Glancing up momentarily Mycroft considerd his brother's question. "I don't know, I'll phone the hospital and ask." He replied, pulling his phone from his pocket. In one smooth movement he stood and made his way over to a corner for some privacy while he made the call. 

Sherlock watched his brother walk away- noting the slump to Mycroft's shoulders and the way his eyes were dull and lifeless. He frowned. If he was not mistaken by what he was seeing it was apparant that Mycroft was very distressed by what had happened to Lestrade. Though he tried not to feel emotions himself because of how they got in the way of making a successful deduction Sherlock vowed to himself that once he had spoken to Lestrade he would try to comfort his brother. Which should be interesting considering he had never done such a thing before. Sherlock shook his head, he would worry about that later. Right now he needed to decide whether or not to tell John about the third Holmes brother. Though keeping him in the dark would protect him it might be better if he was prepared for what was to come... no for now until he knew for certain his other brother was back he would not tell John anything. Desicion made he turned to face John. "Where did you go off to John? Mycroft was worried when he noticed you were missing, especially considering the person who attacked Lestrade is still at large in the city." 

A sheepish expression flashed across John's face and he swallowed nervously. "I-I'm sorry, I just needed some fresh air." He replied in a voice which was audibly shaking. "That isn't a crime is it?" 

Okay something was not right. Sherlock had known John for years and knew he would never apologise for anything. He also knew that John would never, ever stutter. Either he had received a massive, personality altering shock or this was not John Watson standing before him. Fixing him with an intense glare Sherlock began to slowly stalk around John in order to see how he would react. Because he was already suspiscious he was therefore not surprised when instead of staring back at him just as fiercely John flinched and lowered his gaze, a faint bluch creeping up his cheeks. It was at that moment Sherlock remembered something Mycroft had told him earlier about two people attacking Lestrade, one of them looking like him and the other looking like...Sherlock swore loudly and clenched his fists. There was the overwelming possibility the person standing in the flat at that moment might not be John Watson. "Who are you?" He asked, his voice rising as he lost control of his emotions. Several of the nearby police officers glanced over at the pair with an equal mix of confusion and concern for they all knew Sherlock's reputation; he never lost control unless something incredibly bad had happened. 

John...'No', Sherlock thought as he ground his teeth together, 'This person could never be John Watson.' The lookalike stared at him with wide eyes and slowly backed away towards the door. Noticing the movement two offciers moved to intercept him. The lookalike eyes flicked from side to side as he desperatly searched for another escape route. When he was unable to spot one he reluctantly raised his gaze to Sherlock's who had already guessed the lookalike would try again to persude him that he really was John. "What do you mean Sherlock? I'm John Watson." He protested, his tone pleading and a little frantic. 

A chill ran down Sherlock's spine and he inhaled sharply. If the lookalike was here pretending to be John then that must mean...Sherlock let out a cry and sank to his knees. Oh god, if Khan Holmes had John... Sherlock shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. If he started to think like that he would most likely stumble head first into whatever little game Khan had thought up this time. Taking several deep breaths to calm himself Sherlock forced himself to stand. By now every eye in the room was turned to Sherlock and the lookalike- including Mycroft who had long since finished his telephone conversation with the hospital. When he brother had fallen to his knees he had almost rushed forward but had just about managed to restrain himself with the thought that Sherlock disliked people showing affection towards him (John was the only exception to this rule). Instead he watched and waited as Sherlock turned to the police officer closest to him, held out his hand and said "Could I borrow your handcuffs?" 

Like Mycroft the police officer did a double take, frowning at the detective and trying to work out if he is simply trying to be funny. Sherlock's steady gaze told him otherwise and he handed over the handcuffs without another word. Sherlock did not speak either and quickly turned his attention back towards the imposter who was growing steadily more alarmed at how the encounter was going. Inside Sherlock a slow burning anger began to build and unlike the other times he had felt it he allowed it to grow, figuring he could maybe use it to his advantage later on. 

"P-p-please Sherlock, it's me. Why won't you believe me?" The Lookalike stuttered fearfully, his eyes wide and staring as he desperatly tried to find a way out of the situation he had gotten himself into. Khan had warned him the detective could be protective of John but neither of them could possibly have guessed how quickly Sherlock had worked out he was an imposter. He swallowed. If he managed to escape this somehow he was going to find Khan and tell he did not want anything to do with the other Holmes brothers. It was simply too dangerous. 

Sherlock regarded the imposter without emotion as he fastened the handcuffs securely around his wrists, shaking them to make sure they were tight enough. "There are a number of reasons why I don't believe you. The first is that the real John would never plead or stutter. Another reason is the simple fact that you appear terrified of everything and everyone around you, a state of being not possible after having served in a war-zone. The third and final reason why I do not believe you is because you are a pitiful, pale imitation of a great man who just so happens to be my best friend. Did you really think I wouldn't notice?" Sherlock paused for a moment, considering what he was going to say next carefully. The anger inside him continued to grow and was beginning to show itself via the tremours running down his arms and the unpleasant dark glint shining from his ocean blue eyes. "Where is John by the way?" He asked, struggling to keep his voice steady. The lookalike flinched when he heard the barely concealed rage. Annoyed at how the imposter was still refusing to speak Sherlock gave voice to a frustrated growl before he reached out and grabbed the lookalike wrist in a grip tight enough for him to whimper quietly under his breath. "Who the hell are you anyway?" 

The lookalike shook beneath Sherlock's fierce glare and swallowed loudly. Events were not turning out the way he had hoped they would. "My name is Lester Nygaard and I-I'm sorry but I can't tell you John Watson's whereabouts. He made me swear not to tell you anything under pain of a horrible, incredibly painful death." Lester squeaked as he tried to free his wrist from what was quickly becoming a vice like grip. 

Sherlock ground his teeth together and clenched his fists to prevent himself from from wrapping his hands around Lester's throat and squeesing the life from him. Behind him he was aware of someone moving to stand beside him. "For gods sake, tell me who you are working for!" Sherlock shouted. Despite his show of rage the imposter still continued to shake his head, refusing to answer the question. Sherlock snarled under his breath. Maybe he needed to be more persuasive. He raised his hand, intending to strike Lester across the face, but Mycroft reached out and caught his brother's arm. 

"Don't let your anger turn you into our brother. I can't deal right now with another Holmes going off the rails and Lester isn't worth loosing yourself over. You need to remain in control if you stand any chance of finding John." He said as he gazed up at Sherlock with an out of character grim expression on his face. "Anyway", He continued, changing the subject of what he was just saying completely. "The hospital informed me that Greg is awake and is well enough to answer questions coherently if you still wish to visit him Sherlock." 

For a moment Mycroft feared that his younger brother was already lost but then to his relief Sherlock slowly lowered his arm and took a step back away from the imposter. "Thankyou Mycroft, I don't know what came over me." Sherlock said with a deep sigh as he massaged his forehead where he could feel a rather nasty headache starting to throb. "Yes, I still want to visit Lestrade." Though his voice still sounded a little formal and stilted he seemed otherwise okay and Mycroft knew that, for now at least, he had nothing to worry about. "What are we going to do with Mr Nygaard because I would rather not hand him over to the police just yet. I haven't finished questioning him." 

Mycroft considered this for a moment before coming up with a solution. "Until we know where John is Mr Nygaard is staying with us. After all I'm sure Greg will be interested to meet one of the people who tried to kill him." He said darkly, glaring at Lester with a fierce expression. Sherlock cleared his throat pointedly and Mycroft gave him a weary smile. Neither of the Holmes brothers could afford to loose their temper. 

Upon hearing this Lester Nygaard fell to his knees before the two Holmes brothers with a loud cry of despair. "Please don't take me with you. Khan said if he saw me anywhere near that place he would kill me!" He wailed loudly. "Besides it wasn't me who stabbed him." He continued in his strong American twang. 

A look of disgust came over Sherlock's face. How could Khan have ever thought he would mistake him for John? It was as though his brother considered his intellect far superior to the consulting detective's. Sherlock supposed he should not really be suprised because ever since childhood Khan had always believed himself to be better. Shaking his head to dislodge such thoughts Sherlock turns his attention to Mycroft to see how he is taking this. Mycroft's face is pale and his hands are noticebly shaking. When he notices Sherlock staring at him he gives me a wobbly smile before collapsing back into an armchair and burying his head in his hands, overwelmed by the confirmation that Khan is definatly behind this. He felt a jolt of sympathy for Mycroft and all he had had to suffer under Khan's hands. The emotion is fleeting however and is soon replaced by anger. Sherlock clenched his fists; if Khan had hurt John in any way he would pay, no matter what the cost would be. Pausing briefly to lay a comforting hand on Mycroft's shoulder he turned his full attention to Lester who was still kneeling on the floor. The corner of Sherlock's mouth curls up into a sneer. "Stop being so pathetic and get up- we're leaving for the hospital. If you are unwilling to stand I swear to god I will drag you the entire way." He snarled, his eyes flashing. 

Across the room Mycroft stood but otherwise didn't say anything. Lester continued to snivel quietly to himself as he scrambled to his feet and stood before Sherlock, swaying slightly on his feet. Sherlock watched him intently for a moment. Hmm, he had the feeling Lestrade would be interested to meet one of the people who had tried to kill him. It was a shame that he would not get to see Lestrade's reaction but Sherlock needed to start his search if he stood a hope of finding John still alive. Clearing his throat Sherlock turned to address his brother. "Mycroft you'll have to go to the hospital alone because I can not simply wait for Khan to decide to get in touch with us. I have to find John." He said, grabbing his coat and pulling it on. He paused when Mycroft reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. 

"Be careful Sherlock, you know how dangerous our brother can be when he is cornered. If you find yourself in trouble call me okay?" He asked. A frown settled on his face when Sherlock did not reply. "Okay?" He repeated. 

In reply Sherlock only nodded before he and his brother parted, with Mycroft ushering Lester Nygaard into the back of a black London cab and Sherlock rushing off in a mad, and almost certaintly futile attempt to find Khan Holmes before anything happened to John. A shiver ran down Sherlock's spine. Dear god he hoped he would not be too late. 


	3. Khan strikes again

A heavy sadness settled over Mycroft as he watched his brother walk away towards what would almost certaintly turn out to be a trap. Khan always did enjoy playing little games with the two younger Holmes brothers. He felt sure it was a trap because he was unable to think of any other reason as to why Khan would take someone so close to Sherlock hostage after trying to kill Lestrade who everyone knew had regular dealings with Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes. A wave of worry washed through Mycroft as he began to feel an uneasy cold settle over him. He had the horrible feeling something terrible was going to happen before the end of the day. He shook his head and pushed the thought aside as best as he could since there was no point worrying about something he was unable to change. When he had first met John Watson he had known almost immediatly that John Watson would prove to be a weak point in Sherlock's armour because, though his little brother liked to pretend he was not governed by his emotions Mycroft knew from experience this was all a lie. Beside him Lester whimpered and the sound rapidly brought Mycroft back to the real world as he leaned over to cuff the lookalike around the head. His lip curled in disgust at the thought of having to share a taxi with him. How Khan had thought this Lester was anything like John Watson was beyond him. Muttering quietly under his breath Mycroft held out an arm to flag down the taxi slowly driving towards them searching for customers before gripping Lester's arm tightly and pulling him close so he speak to him. "Try any false moves, any attempts to escape or communicate with the driver and you will regret it." Mycroft hissed, feeling a savage satisfaction when Lester flinched away from him. 

The taxi pulled up beside them and Mycroft motioned for Lester to get in. The imposter hesistated for a moment but then saw the grim expression on Mycroft's face and decided it best to do what he said. Giving their destination to the driver Mycroft leaned back in his seat and settled down for what would be a half hour journey to St Thomas' hospital through rush hour traffic. Once the taxi had pulled away from the curb Mycroft allowed himself to relax a little and closed his eyes, intending to forgot everything for a few minutes and distract himself with thoughts that Lestrade was going to pull through according to the doctors at the hospital. After a while, probably about five minutes he calculated, he felt a gentle tugging on his jacket sleeve and tensed. What the hell could Lester possibly want? With a heavy sigh he reluctantly opened his eyes and turned to face him. To his surprise Lester appeared afraid and was watching him with wide eyes. Mycroft frowned. "What's wrong?" He asked, his head tipping to one side as he regarded Lester curiously. "And it had better be good because otherwise you can be silent for the rest of the journey." He winced at the edge he was able to hear in his voice at the same time as he became aware of his growing anger. If he was not careful he could end up lashing out at Lester, something he had already warned Sherlock off doing. 

Lester did not speak for a few seconds as he collected his thoughts because he knew how difficult it was going to be to persuade Mycroft Holmes he was telling the truth. He flinched a little when Mycroft shifted and then chided himself for being so ridiculous when the middle Holmes brother simply scratched the back of his neck. He needed to remember that unlike Sherlock and his quick temper Mycroft was the sanest member of the Holmes family. He started a little when Mycroft pointedly cleared his throat and a slight flush crept up his neck. "I-I know what Khan intends to do and I know what he wants. Your friend, the police inspecter was just to get your attention and John Watson..." 

Lester Nygaard did not get a chance to explain further. One moment the taxi was travelling down York Street and the next the world dissolved into a fractured chaos of screeching metal and shattering glass as something struck the side of the car and flipped it onto its roof. Inside the two passengers were flung against their seatbeats and Mycroft cried out when he felt something within his chest crack. Clenching his fists Mycroft cursed how helpless he was to do anything but wait until the taxi came to a grinding halt in the centre of the quiet road. Dazed and hanging up-side-down Mycroft blinked rapidly a few times and tried to think through the intense pounding in his skull. When he reached round to undo his seatbeat pain flared in his chest and he sucked in a sharp breath. Crap, he had almost certaintly broken something. 

Panic surged through Mycroft and it took all his strength of will not to give in to it. He needed his mind relativly clear if he was going to stand a hope working out what had just happened. A trickle of warmth ran down Mycroft's forehead and when he gingerly reached up his fingers came away red. He could also smell petrol; a sure sign he needed to get out of the taxi as soon as possible. Gritting his teeth against the pain Mycroft undid his seatbeat, having to rest for a few seconds when sweat broke out on his forehead after almost passing out, before turning his attention to Lester. The American was not moving, and his eyes was closed. Gingerly, hissing in pain every time he moved, Mycroft crawled to Lester's side and swore loudly when he saw the blood staining the imposter's clothes. Damn it, he couldn't die. Muttering darkly under his breath Mycroft inspected Lester, searching for the wound which was obviously there. When he found it he had to swallow back a rising wave of sickness. It was sort of a blessing in disguise that Lester was unconscious since he was able to see a shard of shattered bone poking from the skin of the imposter's arm. Slumping down beside him Mycroft considered what to do next. In his condition there would be no way he could unbuckle Lester and get him out of the taxi without possibly exaggerating his own wounds...no calling an ambulance would be best. Taking a deep breath to prepare himself for the stab of pain which was sure to come Mycroft reached into his pocket for his phone. He froze however when he noticed a tall figure dressed in a long black coat stalking slowly forward. 

Mycroft groaned. Great, of course, he should have guessed Khan was behind the crash. In his rush to get to the hospital he had momentarily forgotten his brother's inhuman super strength. Khan came closer, kneeling down so he was able to peer through the taxi's broken back window. It had been years since Mycroft had been face to face with his older brother and he struck by just how much he now resembled Sherlock; it was almost uncanny the likeless and the only way to really tell the difference was Khan's hate filled black eyes. At that moment Khan's eyes were filled with amusement as he took in the sight of Mycroft trapped in what was technically a metal coffin but his expression darkened when his gaze switched to Lester who was just beginning to stir. His eyes widened in terror when he saw Khan staring at him. 

"H-H-how did you find me?" Lester stuttered, cowering down in his seat and hissing in pain when the movement jolted his injured arm. For a moment Mycroftn almost felt sorry for the imposter because he had a horrible feeling this was not going to end well. As though proving him right Khan leant into the interior of the ruined taxi, reached forward and forcibly dragged Lester out, the imposter squeaking and kicking the whole time. "Please Khan, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for them to find out. I'll try to fix things." He pleaded, his voice shaking with terror as he found himself lifted into the air so his feet dangled just above the ground. 

In answer to Lester fear a merciless smile spread across Khan's face. Then he removed one of his hands from Lester's shirt collar and wrapped it around his throat instead. He paused long enough for Lester to once more plead for his life before, with a wide smirk, he tightened his grip. The American, by failing to convince Khan's brothers that he was John Watson was no longer useful to him. Amusement flooded through him when Lester squeaked and clawed at his hand, alreaady beginning to panic as his air supply was slowly cut off. Khan shook his head; ordinary humans were so pathetic. From where he was still trapped within the taxi Mycroft felt a cold shiver run down his spine. He did not want to die but was unable to think of a way out of this situtation. Sherlock was probably already half way across London and Greg was in hospital...no-one was coming to help him any time soon. The third Holmes brother was ruthless and sadistic and Mycroft knew he would suffer terribly before he eventually died. He shook his head sadly, remembering how Khan had been as a child. Sure he had been mean but at least his violence had been tempered by adults. Now however Mycroft was almost certain that no-one could stand against him and survive. 

"I figured you would screw up somehow Lester. You always seem to sooner or later." Khan said, his smirk widening. "It is for that reason that I planted a bug on you so I could keep an eye on what you were doing. Imagine my disappointment when you once more proved me right." Removing an ear peice from his ear he threw it to the ground where it shattered into several peices. His expression darkened, his eyes, if possible, growing blacker as he tightened his grip. Mycroft flinched, remembering that expression and the promise of violence to come too well. In a sudden burst Khan took his other hand from Lester's collar and punched the American hard in the chest. Instead of just impacting on his flesh Khan's super strength allowed him to punch his hand through Lester's chest. There was the nasty wet crunching of bone breaking followed by a thick stream of blood leaking from around Khan's hand. Lester's shrill screams filled the air until Mycroft tried to block out the sound by clapping his hands over his ears. It didn't work and Mycroft was forced to listen in horror as Lester's screams grew higher and became more animal than human before they suddenly and abruptly cut off. Mycroft closed his eyes, knowing that he would be next. He kept his hands over his ears but was unable to block out the suctioning noise as Lester's heart was pulled out of his chest or the cracking of more ribs breaking as Khan pulled his hand back. He swallowed back bile and silently cursed under his breath. Oh god, he really didn't want his life to end like this. 

His hands shaking uncontrollebly Mycroft waited for the end. Minutes passed and nothing happened. Confused Mycroft slowly open his eyes. The scene that greeted his eyes was like something out of a horror movie. There was blood everywhere; on Khan's clothes, spattered on the road and spreading out in a rapidly expanding pool from Lester's body which Khan had already discarded. A wave of sickness rose up and it took all of Mycroft's will power to force it back. It had been so long since the last time he had since him and Mycroft had forgotten just how evil Khan really was. Slowly, afraid of what he would see, Mycroft turned his gaze to his brother. A quiet gasp of horror escaped him. Khan was still holding Lester's heart and was examining it closely as though interested in some secret it could reveal to him. He didn't seem to notice the blood still oozing between his fingers, coating his hand in a glove of glistening gore, and dripping to the ground below. When he saw Mycroft was watching him Khan expression twisted into a humourless grin before he let the heart fall onto the road with a quiet splat. Mycroft shook his head. It was shocking how easily Khan had dispatched Lester and he was sure there was something similiar in store for him. All he could was pray it would be over just as quickly. 

Walking forward it only took three strides for Khan to be kneeling back down beside the taxi and reaching inside to pull his brother out. Mycroft couldn't see any point in struggling, Khan would only break his arm or something, and remained as still as possible as Khan dragged him through the taxi's back window and dumped him down on the road. Mycroft tried not to cry out when he felt Lester's drying blood stick to his skin. 

"Come now brother, there is no need to look so afraid." Khan said, his voice like ice. "What would I possibly gain by killing you? Anyway the death of Greg Lestrade is plenty enough for Sherlock to worry about for now. Well that and John Watson's abduction. I wonder how the great detective is doing in his search for his friend?" Khan mused, a faint smirk distorting his features. 

Mycroft stared up at brother with a momentary sense of relief. From what he was saying it was obvious Khan had no idea Lestrade had survived the attack. The eldest Holmes brother had finally made a mistake! Maybe later Mycroft could somehow use the knowledge as a weapon. Right now though he had much more pressing concerns; for Sherlock's sake he should take this oppotunity to make sure that John was still alive. Nervously Mycroft cleared his throat and tired but failed to look into Khan's black eyes. "What exactly did you do with John Watson? Because if you have hurt him in any way I can garentee that Sherlock will come after you." He stopped when a dark glint appeared in Khan's eyes. 

"Come now Mycroft, when have I ever made something easy for you? I would have thought by now you would have learnt that not everything can be gained from asking a question." Khan said, tapping a bloody figure on his chin and smearing scarlet blood across his face. Out of his two brothers Mycroft had always been the calmer one, meaning that Khan couldn't see much point in getting Mycroft angry enough for him to lose control. No...he would much rather have Sherlock by his side and Mycroft could prove to be the thing that would push Sherlock over the edge. A wicked grin spread his face. "You will be pleased to know brother that instead of killing you I am going to use you as bait for dear little Sherlock. I think having two of you there will be even more effective, especially coming on top of the policeman's death." 

The colour drained from Mycroft's face as he finally began to grasp what his brother was planning. "You're insane, it'll never work." He said, shaking his head in protest. He winced when a wave of dizziness crashed through him and almost dragged him down into darkness. "Sherlock will never lose control, he has vowed never to become a monster like you." He spat, definant despite the violence he knew Khan to be capable of. 

Khan's grin grew wider. "You forget Mycroft that I currently have in my possesion the one person who Sherlock cares about most in the world." He said, beginning to pace from side to side. "I think threatening to kill him and then you might persuade Sherlock to change his mind. You see the one thing I know for certain about our younger brother is this... when someone he loves is in danger he will do anything to save them." He laughed befofe placing a hand on Mycroft's shoulder and forcing him down onto the road. 

A violent shiver ran through Mycroft at what Khan was proposing. Even for him it was pretty evil. Absorbed as he was in his thoughts Mycroft hardly noticed that Lester's blood was soaking into his clothes and staining them a deep, rust colour. He flinched when Khan kneeled down beside him and seized his head in a vice like grip. This was it, this was the moment. Squeesing his eyes shut he prepared himself as best as he could for the violent act he knew was coming. He didn't have to wait long. There was a snarl on Khan's lips as he brought the back of Mycroft's head crashing down onto the hard surface of the road. Mycroft cried out as intense blinding pain shot through his head followed by a feeling of being detached from the world as his conscience began to drift. Just as Khan was making to repeat the action everything went mercifully dark and Mycroft knew no more. 


	4. A visit to the hospital

Sherlock was hardly able to stand still and kept shifting from side to side as he willed the lift to hurry up. Like any old peice of machinery it was making a lot of noise while also not getting anywhere fast which was drastically cutting into the time he could be spending searching for John. After leaving 221B Sherlock had quickly realised that he really had no idea where to begin searching for Khan. He could be anywhere in the city. Cursing himself he had initially considered turning back and consulting Mycroft but he simply couldn't have faced seeing Lester again. His temper was barely in control as it was and at the thought of the imposter Sherlock clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. Even just the mere thought of Lester made him want to punch something. Taking a deep breath he roughly shoved the anger away and instead tried to concentrate on the reason he was there. Though it may prove to be fruitless he hoped Lestrade could help in some way. Finally after what seems like minutes but is really only seconds, the lift shuddered to a halt on the fourth floor and the door clanked slowly opened. Sherlock hung back to allow several harried looking doctors to go ahead of him before he exited the lift himself. Almost immediatly the smell of disinfectant hit him and he crinkled up his noice in disgust. Sherlock disliked hospitals and had ever since...well lets just say that he and John were lucky to be alive and leave it at that. His black shoes squeaked on the highly polished floor as he made his way down a corridor towards the ward where Lestrade had been emitted. Sherlock's steps slowed a little. Please god let Lestrade be alright. He would never forgive himself if he died. Along with one of the doctors from the lift he turned into Island ward (Sherlock had never understood the need to name wards so cheerily) and approached the nurses station. It was the work of a minute to find out which private room Lestrade was in. Thanking the nurse for her help Sherlock headed over, eager to find out how Lestrade was. 

Considering that Lestrade had recieved a nasty stab wound in the side and punctured a lung he really didn't look too bad. He managed a weak smile when he saw Sherlock walking towards him. "Sherlock! I didn't think you would come and visit." He said, struggling to raise himself to a seated position. After some swearing and a number of quiet curses Lestrade managed to get himself comfortable and turned his full attention to Sherlock as the detective shrugged off his coat and carefully placed it over the arm of the chair beside the bed. "Is Mycroft with you?" He asked, sounding hopeful. His face fell when Sherlock shook his head. 

Sherlock frowned. Odd, his brother should have arrived long before he had because even in the middle of the rush hour the traffic moved quicker than a person on foot. Something must have kept him. With this thought foremost in his mind Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He was a little disappointed to find no texts or missed calls waiting for him. He gritted his teeth and forced down the panic who could feel beginning to bubble up inside him. Taking a deep breath he firmly told himself that there was no way Khan could be involved. Sherlock started when he felt a gentle touch on his arm and instinctivly lashed out, grabbing Lestrade's wrist in a painfully tight grip. It took him a moment to realise what he had done but once he had he hastily released Lestrade who was staring at him with wide, fearful eyes, suprised by the detective's sudden burst of violence. 

"What's wrong? You've been acting twitchy ever since you arrived." Lestrade said, still sounding more than a little nervous. He had never seen Sherlock act that way before and figured that something bad must have happened to cause the detective to show this sort of level of emotion. When Sherlock didn't immediatly reply Lestrade stared at him intently. "For goodness sake, please talk to me. I may be injured but whatever you have to tell me I can take." 

Sherlock sighed deeply and leant back in the chair, massaging his forehead with his fingertips while he considered how to answer. Because of what had happened he knew there was no way he could keep anything from Lestrade anymore. He shifted further down into the seat in an attempt to get comfortable and cleared his throat loudly before beginning to explain about Khan Holmes, the third Holmes brother. He had to go back further than he would have liked into his family history in order to make Lestrade fully comprehend just how insane and twisted Khan really was. When he began to explain about how Khan had taken John and replaced him with a doppleganger Lestrade's expression noticebly darkened and his fists gripped the bed sheets tightly, twisting them into a ball. "So you see Greg, that is why I have been acting a little odd. Especially so considering that Mycroft should have arrived here before me and I am worried something has happened to him... I need your help." Sherlock finished rather lamely, unsure what else he could possibly say. Sitting forward he glanced at the clock on the nearby wall and was surprised to discover he had been here for nearly an hour and a half. He frowned. Something had definitly happened to Mycroft to delay him for this long. 

A thoughtful expression came over Lestrade's face. "Maybe Mycroft's so late because he's had a problem with this Lester." He said with an obvious tone of hope in his voice. He shifted a little, trying to make himself more comfortable, and winced when the action pulled at his stitches. For a moment all he could do was close his eyes as waves of pain crashed over him. Maybe it was time to ask the nursing staff for some more morphine. His voice sounded strained when he next spoke but he tried to ignore it. "Of course I'll help you Sherlock. You should know by now that you don't even need to ask." Lestrade said with a smile though it was still tinged with concern. 

Sherlock felt a wave of gratitude flood through him followed by tears pricking at his eyes and he stood, meaning to walk over to the bed and hug Lestrade. He paused and frowned, annoyed at himself for these irrational emotional responses he had been experiencing lately. Ever since almost losing his temper at Lester he had been struggling to keep himself in check. Vigoriously shaking his head from side to side to clear it of such thoughts Sherlock turned his attention back to Lestrade to find him staring at him with an expression of troubled concern. Sherlock shrugged nonchantly in an attempt to show him that everything was fine. Lestrade wasn't fooled however but decided for now it would be best to keep quiet. "Thankyou Greg." Sherlock said, his lips twitching up in a warm smile. Hmmm, maybe that was why Lestrade looked so puzzled. If he could help it Sherlock never used the policeman's real name. Well at least Lestrade could tell he was deaadly serious about this situation. Sherlock was about to outline a vague plan he had been working on when a shrill ringing noise cut through the quiet, prompting several of the medical staff to glare pointedly over in their direction. Muttering under his breath (how had he forgotten to turn the volume onto vibrate?) he pulled his phone from his pocket. To his immense relief the caller ID identified the person calling him to be Mycroft. Evidently he wanted to explain why he was so late in arriving at the hospital. "Brother, what's keeping you?" He asked. "Lestrade is dying for you to come and visit." He continued, ignoring the frantic cutting motion Lestrade was making. Sherlock turned away with a smile and waited for his brother to reply. 

On the other end of the phone there was a deep silence broken only by the sound of someone breathing. A shiver of unease ran down Sherlock's spine. After a few seconds had passed there was a quiet sigh quickly followed by a low chuckle. "Hello little brother, it's been a while since I last spoke to you." 

Sherlock closed his eyes and swore under his breath. "What the hell do you want Khan?" He spat, well aware that Lestrade was watching him with a startled expression. "If you have hurt Mycroft in any way I swear I will make you regret it." Inside his head a faint pounding pressure began to build behind his eyes; an early warning that he needed to calm down or risk losing control. He had been worried all along that this might have happened but to have his worst fears actually confirmed...it was more than he could take. 

On the other end of the phone Khan let out a low, dark laugh. "Don't worry little brother no harm has come to him yet." He said with a sneer audible in his voice. "I would put him on the phone but he sort of unconscious at the moment, There is someone though who does want to speak to you." His voice became muffled, as though he was holding the phone away from him. "Come on John Watson say hello to Sherlock." Sherlock's face drained of its colour as he listened to the sound of swearing followed by a pained cry which is immediatly able to tell belongs to John. He jumped when Khan began talking again. "Oh dear, its looks like your friend doesn't want to co-operate. Such a shame really because I didn't want to have to hurt him just yet." 

"Leave him out of this Khan. It's me and Mycroft you want, John has nothing to do with any of this. Until today he didn't even know that you existed." Sherlock sighed and ran a hand through his curls as he considered what to do. Though at the moment Khan seemed calm he knew from experience how quickly he could become violent. "If you let him go I will do anything you want. Just let John go." He said, trying to stop his voice from shaking and betraying the fear he was currently feeling. With his heart if his mouth he waited for Khan to reply. 

Khan was quiet for a long while, long enough to cause Sherlock some minor panic. But then Khan replied. "Very well little brother. As soon as I end this phone call I am going to text you my location but you must come alone because if I suspect you are bringing the Metropolitan police into this I will cut off a few of John's fingers." Khan threatened, his voice little more than a low hiss. "Oh and by the way you have an hour to get here or I will kill John anyway." With that Khan cut the connection. 

At first all Sherlock was able to do was stare numbly at his phone while Lestrade asked him what was wrong. Then the enormity of the situation hit him and his knees buckled, sending him to the ground where he buried his head in his hands. "Oh god, oh god, oh god." He muttered under his breath, completly stunned by what he had just heard. Confused thoughts churned in his head. Why was this happening? Why couldn't Khan leave them alone? His chest was tight and it felt like it was a struggle to breath, Sherlock groaned quietly to himself. Now was not the time to be having a panic attack. Because of the state he was in Sherlock forgot about Lestrade and started when he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. He glanced up to find Lestrade standing over him, his face strained at the sheer effort of will needed to ignore the incessant burning pain in his side. Instantly Sherlock jumped up and, placing an arm around his shoulder, gently lowered Lestrade into the armchair beside the bed. "Khan has Mycroft." He explained as he made sure Lestrade was comfortable and hadn't damaged any stitches in the act of getting out of bed. "And he's threatening to kill John if I don't go to meet him in person." 

Lestrade shook his head, his expression grave. "Sherlock, you aren't possibly thinking of going?!" He asked, sounding incredulous. "Come on, you told me yourself how dangerous he can be. He will kill you if you go." He continued in protest with a frantic expression. "Sherlock, you can't go!" 

With a quiet curse Sherlock clenched his fists. "I don't have a choice! If I don't do what he wants Khan will..." His voice trailed off. "For gods sake I don't have time to stand around and argue." He shouted loudly enough to startle the medical staff. The revelation that not only his best friend but also his brother was in danger was almost too much for him and Sherlock breathed in deeply as he found himself dangerously close to a breakdown. It took almost all of his will power to remain in control. His phone beeped loudly and Sherlock snatched it from his pocket. Finally Khan has texted him his location! Ignoring Lestrade who was trying to get his attention he read it, his face falling when he realised he had just under an hour to travel halfway across the city. Even if he left now it would still take at least forty five minutes to get through central London. He turned to Lestrade who looked up at him with a pleading expression in his eyes. Sherlock looked away. "I'm sorry Greg but I have to go. I can't leave Mycroft and John to suffer." He said before marching down the ward towards the lifts. He didn't look back. 

The moment the lift doors closed and Sherlock was out of sight Lestrade stood, wincing a little as the movement jolted his injury, and grabbed his phone from the cupboard beside his bed. Even though he had no idea where the detective was going he could at least alert his team to keep a look out and follow Sherlock should they spot him. He just hoped it was enough to keep Mycroft, John and Sherlock safe because he would never forgive himself if something happened to them. 


	5. A terrible choice

Throughout the journey in the taxi (which despite being the height of rush hour was still marginally quicker than travelling on foot) Sherlock was on the edge of his seat with anticipation, his mind buzzing with endless scenarios of what might happen when he confronted Khan. With a sigh, wishing his mind could rest, he rested his head back against the seat and for the remainder of the journey, apart from a frantic five minutes when the taxi came to a standstill beside the river, Sherlock stared blankly out of the window at buildings which gradually became more and more run down the further away from the centre they drove. Fifty minutes after leaving the hospital the taxi finally comes to a stop in an area of crumbling industrialised warehouses which have seen better days. Thanking the driver Sherlock paid his fare and got out, ignoring the puzzled look the taxi driver shot his way as he drove off, as he turned his attention to the maze of buildings before him. Somewhere amonst the piles of twisted metal and the ruined buildings Khan was waiting. Sherlock took several deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down and glanced at the clock on his phone. Five minutes left. Slowly he headed towards the nearest warehouse which still appeared to be mostly intact with at least three of its walls still standing. 

There was no way Khan hadn't heard him because his footsteps echoed loudly in the enclosed corridor of concrete he was walking through. Sherlock took a few deep breath in an attempt to calm the white hot anger bubbling within him and wiping out his ability to remain calm and carefully think things through. All Sherlock could focus on was making Khan pay for what he had done. Clenching his fists Sherlock stalked forward. He didn't have any plan, or any notion of how he was going to defeat his brother. It was too late to call Lestrade for help. With only three minutes remaining no one would be able to arrive in time. Before him the industrial area opened up into a wide courtyard where there was nothing to hide behind. The instant Sherlock began to cross it he would be totally exposed. Not that he particularily cared at that moment. Not even stopping to check for traps he started to make his way across the open space, carefully threading his way through the maze of twisted metal and rubble covering the ground. At one point halfway across Sherlock paused and bent down, picking up a long piece of metal that could prove to be a useful weapon. He gripped it tightly and carried on. Just as he was nearing the warehouse he felt his phone vibrate, announcing the arrival of another text. Damn it Khan! He was already moving as quickly as he could. Hastily he glanced at his watch and started. He was almost out of time. Muttering darkly under his breath Sherlock reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone and pressed a few buttons in order to illuminate the screen. Just as he had expected the text was indeed from Khan and simply read 'tick tock Sherlock, time is getting away from you.' Sherlock gritted his teeth. Okay, time to throw caution to the winds. Raising a clenched fist he slammed open the door, sending it banging back into the wall, and walked inside. "KHAN!" He bellowed. 

The scene he found himself confronted with froze him to the spot and made any further exclamations of anger fade away before he could say them. Whatever he had been expecting it certaintly hadn't been anything like this. Before him, secured by ropes to the chairs they are sitting on, is John and Mycroft. Both of them look a little battered with dried trails of blood running down their faces from cuts to their foreheads. Both of them looked at Sherlock with identical expressions of shock but are unable to say anything past the gags tied tightly around their mouths. Khan was no where to be seen, something Sherlock was instantly suspicious of. In a place this size Khan could be hiding almost anywhere. He went to take a step forward. 

"Careful little brother, one more step and someone is unfortuantly going to have to die." Khan's voice seemed to come from all around, echoing in the empty warehouse until it would be near impossible to pinpoint his location. Which was probably his intention in the first place. "You know Sherlock I was beginning to worry that you wouldn't turn up in time. After all it would have been such a shame if I had been forced to kill John Watson or Mycroft without first consulting you." Khan laughed darkly and it took all the strength of will Sherlock posessed not to find the oldest Holmes brother and kill him there and then. 

Reluctantly Sherlock tore his gaze away from his friend and brother and carefully scanned the surrounding warehouse. Despite the sunlight streaming through the windows there were still areas shrouded in deep shadow where Khan could easily hide. "Okay Khan." Sherlock said, struggling to keep his voice calm. "I'm here now. Let John and Mycroft go and I will do whatever you want." 

John let out a muffled protest and violently shook his head. From behind him Sherlock heard a low, deep laugh which made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Slowly he turned round to face the person, already knowing exactly who they were. There was an unplesant smile on Khan's face, an almost animalistic look like a predator would give to its prey. It had been many years since Sherlock had been face to face with his brother but he was still a little startled by just how much Khan looked like him. It was almost like looking in a mirror. The only real difference was that while Sherlock's eyes were blue, Khan's were black and seemed to absorb light, giving him a dark, almost threatening look. A cold shiver ran down Sherlock's spine when he saw the pure hatred being directed at him and for a moment fear seized him, making him shake uncontrollably. 

When he saw the effect he was having on his younger brother Khan smiled a humourless smile and took a step forward so he was barely a metre away. "I'm sorry Sherlock but there has been a slight change of plan. Don't worry though it has nothing to do with you." Khan taunted, circling Sherlock so he was forced to turn in order to keep him in sight. Khan;s face twisted into a gleeful expression but it quickly darkened once more into anger. "I've thought it over and my original plan to simply let John Watson go is, lets face it, rather boring. I decided to spice it up a little." He said, walking over to the chairs and laying his hands on John and Mycroft's shoulders. Both of them flinched and shut their eyes. It pained Sherlock to see how scared both of them looked. There had to some way he could help them. The rage burning in Sherlock's veins began to boil over and he found himself giving voice to a loud snarl which startled him in its fierocity. Khan tipped his head to one side and smiled at his brother. "Good, thats right Sherlock, let all that anger out. Loosing control was one of the best things I have ever done." He said grandly, spreading his arms wide. 

Sherlock buried his head in his hands with a quiet curse. Damn it, why was he allowing Khan to get under his skin like this? If he lost his temper now John and Mycroft would be lost. If he became like his brother- no it wasn't even worth thinking about. Gritting his teeth Sherlock forcibly shoved the anger to one side before he took a deep breath and rasied his gaze to Khan's. "You never did intend to release John did you? Your intention all along was to make him lose control." 

Khan held his hands up with a smirk. "You got me brother." He said, reaching down to run a finger along Mycroft's cheek. "Clever little Sherlock you've seen right through me. Yes, making you lose control was my intention all along. I've been getting rather lonely lately and decided it was time for one of my brothers to join me. Of course it had to you Sherlock because you aren't as uptight as Mycroft and you are much more easily manipulated when it comes to the people you care most about." He paused for a moment and stared intently at Sherlock. "Anyway I think it is time we got down to business, don't you agree Sherlock?" Khan asked, his face distorted in an ugly sneer. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes in disgust. This was so typical of Khan. As long as he could remember Khan had enjoyed playing mind games. He shook his head, feeling an emotion almost like pity towards his brother. At times like this he could persuade himself that Khan was merely misunderstand. However his gaze settled on John and Mycroft and his heart hardened. No Khan was evil and manipulative and would never change. Sherlock gritted his teeth and clenched his fists to prevent himself from lunging forward and wrapping his hands around Khan's throat. "Whatever you want Khan just come out and say out. Stop playing all these little games for once." He snapped, his blue eyes icy and his voice hard. 

A dark cloud passed over Khan's face, distorting his handsome features into something harsh. A shiver ran through Sherlock as he was faced with an abrupt reminder of the dangerous psycopath his brother really was. Suddenly all he could think about was how badly this situation could potentially end and he regretted the way he had snapped earlier. Nervously he watched as Khan once more placed a hand on Mycroft and John's shoulders before fixing him with a nasty smile. "Very well little brother, if that is what you want. I brought you here because I decided to give you a choice. You see Mycroft has always been more in control of his emotions than you are which makes him useless to me. At first I had intended to kill him and dump his body somewhere no-one would ever find it but then I thought you would at least want to say goodbye." He paused long enough for Sherlock to understand exactly what his brother meant and a horrified gasp escaped him. "Oh good, I see you're already one step ahead. Of course it wouldn't be any fun if I simply alowed you and John to walk out of here so I am going to give you a choice. You and one of these two will walk out of here unharmed and you get to decide who that person will be." Khan continued, pressing down hard enough on Mycroft's shoulder to make him wince a little. 

For a moment all Sherlock could do was stare at Khan in shock. There was no way he could do what his brother was suggesting, it was evil...insane...inhuman. He shook his head. What gave Khan the right to think he could play with life and death? The anger he had been managing to hold at bay burst forth in an violent explosion, flooding into every part of his body in a white hot wave that made him fall to his knees with a loud cry. He didn't want to become like Khan, but he would need his rage if he was going to overpower Khan. If he failed... He pushed the thought aside and focused on trying to think of a plan. Slowly, hoping that Khan was too distracted to notice, Sherlock tensed and prepared himself to spring. Before he could do anything however Khan stalked towards him with a smooth gait, easily covering the distant in a few steps, grabbed his left wrist tightly and violently wrenched his arm sideways. There was a wet popping sound as the arm was pulled from its socket. Sherlock cried in pain and tried to lash out but Khan released him and stepped out of range. 

"Come now little brother I've never known you to be so emotional." Khan said with a laugh. "Where are your calculated deductions and clever little plans?" A sly grin spread across his face and his dark eyes narrowed with something close to satisfaction. "Is your rage already beginning to consume you brother? Are you losing control?" 

Gritting his teeth against the dull, throbbing pain in his arm Sherlock glanced up at Mycroft whose gazed back at him with a resigned expression in his grey eyes as though he already knew what Sherlock was going to say next. It was then Sherlock had a flash of inspiration, the beginnings of a workable plan. Taking a deep breath to calm himself a little he forced himself to ignore the pain, stand up and look Khan directly in the eye. "I've made my decision brother." He said, his voice shaking a little with anger. He glanced at Mycroft in time to see him nod a little to show that he knew what Sherlock was planning and agreed with it. "I choose John." Sherlock said, turning back to Khan and ignoring John's muffled protests which were probably swear words knowing him. 

"Very good little brother. Just as I expected you are sacrificing Mycroft in order to save your best friend." Khan said, his eyes alight with a dark fire. Sherlock tensed, waiting for his oppotunity to strike. He didn't have to wait long because after a few seconds Khan turned his back. Instantly Sherlock leapt to his feet, pulling the thin peice of jagged metal from his pocket as he did so. Before Khan could react he wrapped an arm around his throat and hugged him tightly to him. Khan snarled and twisted, trying to throw Sherlock off. 

In response Sherlock grip tightened and he slashed the sharp edge of his improvised dagger against Khan's neck. Blood gushed from the wound and Sherlock felt a brief satisfaction at the knowledge that he had managed to get the first attack in. His triumph was short lived. With a roar of anger Khan bucked and threw Sherlock to the floor, the improvised dagger flying from his grip. Khan lunged forward and grabbed the dagger before rounding on his brother again. Before Sherlock was able to react Khan had cleared the space between them and dragged him upright with a hand around his throat. From the corner of his eye Sherlock saw a flash of silver and then something cold and sharp plunged into his side. He gasped, feeling warm blood begin to ooze out of a deep gash in his side. A nasty smirk spread across Khan's features as he released Sherlock and rounded on Mycroft and John. Sherlock desperatly tried to move, to do something to help his brother and his friend, but was unable to when intense pain washed through his side. He cursed loudly and sank back down against the floor. Gingerly he pressed a hand to his side and was alarmed when it came away covered in blood. Shit, this hadn't gone to plan at all. Cursing how helpless he was Sherlock turned his head to watch what Khan intended to do next. A siver ran down his spine. Whatever it was it couldn't be anything good. 

Khan let out a dark laugh and, forcing Mycroft's head up, he pressed the jagged shade of metal to the side of his neck. A humourless grin twitched up the corners of Khan's mouth. "Dear me little brother, that was rather a stupid move wasn't it? He hissed, his black eyes flashing dangerously. With every word Khan utters blood trickles from his mouth while even more continues to gush from the wound in his neck. Any ordinary person would have fallen unconscious by now. Despite the beads of sweat on his forehead and his pale complexion Khan was still somehow managing to function like a normal human being. 

With a groan Sherlock hung his head. He should have known it was pointless to go up against his brother. There hadn't been a chance he might ever come out on top. He no longer felt angry and instead simply was drained and empty. Despite everything he had tried Khan had still won. He barely had time to even cry out before Khan slowly drew the sharp edge of the makeshift dagger across Mycroft's throat. Sherlock was forced to watch helplessly as his brother's eyes widened and violent spasms rocked his body, as though he was protesting against his life draining away from him in a scarlet flood. Then he went horribly limp and from where he was slumped on the floor Sherlock was able to see the bright light in Mycroft's eyes going out. A strangled cry burst from his mouth and tears stung his eyes. No! No! Mycroft couldn't be dead- not after everything the two of them had gone through together. Unable to hold it back a pained sob escaped him and his blue eyes filled with tears. 

His hand dripping with Mycroft's blood Khan smiled and took a step towards John. Sherlock's heart contracted. Not John as well! Summoning his remaining strength Sherlock steeled himself for one last attempt to stop Khan once and for all. He growled under his breath when Khan placed the makeshift knife on one of John's wrists. In the end though it turned out that Sherlock had no need for such effort because he could charge or do anything Khan collapsed to the ground. For a moment all Sherlock could do was stare, expecting his brother to suddenly jump up and attaack but after several moment of complete stillness he began to realise that Khan had finally succumbed to his wound. Though he knew he should be glad it was all over Sherlock only felt a cold emptyness. In the spare of a couple of minutes he had lost both of his brothers and was totally alone in the world. Even the fact that John was okay felt like a hollow victory in the wake of what had happened. With a quiet sigh Sherlock allowed the pain to flooding back in full force, welcoming the sensation of numbness creeping over his limbs. Surely it couldn't hurt to lie down and close his eyes for a few seconds... 


	6. Aftermarth

When Sherlock regained consciousness it was to find himself lying in a soft bed under a thin, scratchy blanket surrounded by beeping machines which all seemed to be attached to him by wires. He frowned, unable to remember how he could have gotten to a hospital. The last thing he could recall was closing his eyes and falling asleep. No one could have stumbled across them because the area was deserted, Lestrade didn't know where he was and John had still been tied secruely to a chair. In a panic Sherlock sat up, instantly regretting the action when intense pain flared in his side. He ignored it however and looked at his surroundings. He appeared to be in a private room and aside from a suit jacket slung over the back of the solitary chair there was no sign anyone has been there. Where was John? He shifted a little, intending to stand up but instead curled over and clutched at where he had been stabbed with a cry of pain. Rapid footsteps headed in his direction followed a few seconds later but a nurse rounding the corner and entering his room. Behind her with a concerned expression on his face is the person Sherlock had almost died trying to protect. Sherlock relaxed a little. Thank god he was okay. 

John smiled. "Thank goodness you're awake, Greg and I were beginning to worry about you." His face fell a little. "Never scare me like that again Sherlock okay? When you collapsed I was so afraid you were going to die." John said as he walked towards the bed and sat down in the chair, utterly oblivious to the nurse telling him that Sherlock needed rest. John's face was anxious as he leant forwards and placed a hand on Sherlock's arm. "How are you feeling? Are you okay?" Sherlock knew from his friend's tone that John wasn't referring to his injury. Muttering under her breath about visitors the nurse left the two friends in peace. 

With a heavy sigh Sherlock sank back into the pillows the nurse had arranged behind him and closed his eyes. Everything that had happened was still too much for him to take in. He didn't really know how to answer John without making him worry even more. How was he supposed to feel after watching both of his brothers die... his thoughts trailed off as realisation began to sink in. Oh god both of his brothers were dead! Sure Khan had been a heartless psychopath but he still felt a vast amount of guilt at having been the one responsible for his death. A single tear dripped down his cheek and he reached up to wipe it away with a shaking hand before anyone noticed it. He should have known he couldn't fool John who smiled sadly at him. Despite the deep sadness he felt Sherlock still managed a weak smile at his friend's appearence. The bandage around his head and looped over one eye gave John a rakish, almost michevious look, despite the serious expression he currently wore. John knew him too well to be fooled by lies and attempts to conceal emotions. "No John, I'm not okay," Sherlock murmured, his voice breaking towards the end of the sentence. Swallowing hard a few times he decided it would be best to change the subject before he lost control completely. "How did we get here? The last thing I remember is passing out." 

John tilted his head to one side and looked thoughtful. "Literally minutes later the metropolitan police arrived in force with an ambulance in tow. Apparently Greg had given them orders to follow you and keep you safe." He replied in a low voice. "One of them tracked you to the warehouse and then called for backup...unfortunatly by the time they charged in everything was already over. After making sure that Khan was definatly dead they brought us to the hospital where you've been sleeping for the past two and a half days." John finished, staring off into space as though his mind was thinking other thoughts. 

Sherlock took a deep breath to prepare himself for the question he wanted to ask but was dreading the answer to. Sensing his distress John's hand on his tightened a little. "And Mycroft?" He asked, his voice shaking despite his attempts to calm himself. 

Before he answered John cleared his throat several times. "Greg and I have been dealing with all the preparations for the funeral and everything is under control. The ceremony will be next week because the doctors have told that you should be well enough to be discharged by then. If not we can simply change the date, the funeral home and the cemetary have been very understanding." He paused, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "Khan?" He asked, not needing to elaborate for Sherlock to understand what he was trying to say. In reply Sherlock nodded to show that, despite everything he had done, he would still like his older brother to be buried. "Okay, I'll let Greg know." He said, reaching into his pocket for his phone so he could send a message rather than leaving Sherlock and walking halfway across the hospital to visit him. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, a jolt of white hot pain shot through Sherlock's side. Pressing his hand against his side he doubled up with a curse and a gasp of pain. Reaching forward John laid a hand on his shoulder. "Sherlock, what is it? Do you need me to fetch a nurse?" He asked, sounding worried. 

Gritting his teeth Sherlock shook his head. He didn't want any painkillers because all they would do was cloud his mental processes and at the moment Sherlock wanted to be fully aware. Later he could give in and momentarily forget everything. The pain gnawed at him, trying to persuade him to give in to it but with an extraordinary effort of will Sherlock pushed it aside. Gingerly he laid back down, making sure to keep a hand pressed against the wound as though this could somehow ease the pain. "How is Greg anyway?" He asked, wincing at how strained his voice sounded. 

John continued to watch Sherlock for a moment to make absolutely sure he was okay before walking back over to his chair and sitting down. "He's much better now, the doctors are saying that he should make a full recovery. They hope to discharge him before the week is up. He wanted to come and visit you today but the doctors told him that you needed rest." He said, noticing the glazed look in Sherlock's eyes. It would be several days before he was anywhere near back to normal. "In fact I am going to see him this afternoon before visiting hours end. I'm sure he'll be pleased to hear that you're awake." 

Sherlock frowned. That was the second time John had mentioned how long he had long asleep. "John, how long was I out for again?" He asked, waiting to make certain he had heard John right the first time. 

"I told you Sherlock. You were asleep for two and a half days...are you okay?" He asked, his eyes going to where Sherlock was still pressing a hand against his wound. "You know you can tell me if anything's wrong?" He continued, rising halfway out of his seat. Maybe it was time to get a doctor. 

It was John's sympathetic expression which did it. Unable to hold back his emotions any longer Sherlock's fragile control broke and he burst into loud sobs. John appeared a little taken aback for a moment but quickly regained his composure and rushed over to the bed to enfold the detective in a hug. The simple action of comforting was enough to unleash a flood of tears for the two brothers he had lost and Sherlock buried his head in John's shoulder. John's arms tightened as he lightly began to stroke his hand down Sherlock's back. It hurt him a little to see the detective so upset and not be able to do anything to help. "Oh Sherlock it's okay. Though it may not be much comfort I know exactly how you are feeling because I discovered yesterday that Khan murdered Lester. Sure he may have been annoying but he was still family..." His voice broke and caught as he swallowed back tears. He could cry later, for now he needed to focus on Sherlock. 

Suddenly Sherlock no longer felt any pity for Khan Holmes, he had caused too much pain and heartbreak to deserve much sympathy. Because of him two lives had come to an end while two others had come dangerously close to being snuffed out as well. Sherlock shook his head a little. Why did the eldest Holmes brother also insist on playing murder whenever he was involved in a family reunion? The last time he had turned up he had killed his own parents. Sherlock blinked back the tears and awkwardly patted John on the back, unsure how to deal with this change in their relationship. He sighed. One thing was certain- life would never be the same again. 

The End 


End file.
